


In Which a Seamstress Visits Skaia

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Alternate Universe - No Sgrub Session, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Humanstuck, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Jake English/Dirk Strider, One-Sided Jane Crocker/Jake English - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Royalty, Slow Build, but like, not in our universe?, sometime in the georgian era I guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7629982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The kingdom of Skaia has just lost its greatest prince, and Dave realises the mistake he has made in killing him.</p>
<p>Dirk: Meet your unfortunate demise.</p>
<p>Karkat: Get emotionally attached.</p>
<p>Dave: Scarper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The prince stood tall above the broken body, littering an otherwise spotless hall. He was hurriedly addressing his subordinate, a fine young lady wearing a beautifully simple blue dress. It framed her shoulders nicely.

She was crying.

He was trying not to.

She called out, rushing from the room with the high ceiling to fetch a medic.

He knelt, putting a hand on the corpse and letting out a quiet sob.

It was cold.

It was snowing outside.

His brother was lifeless and limp.

It was red.

The carpet was a lovely shade.

His brother was bleeding.

 

The prince sat now in a room filled with others. It was a small room, it didn't take many to fill it.

They sat in chairs alongside each other – lips tight in worry, chests heavy in fear.

The air was heavy too. Cool. A window was slightly ajar to cleanse the room. It only made the atmosphere seem colder. It was bleak enough as it was. The space seemed far too tightly occupied, and the prince loathed it. He loathed company (currently, at least). Especially when that company was a dozen aged bachelors who felt the need to intrude in the Royal Family's business. In all honesty, it probably was needed, but the prince wasn't ready to admit that. They were _intruding_.

The window slammed shut and the company fell into uneasy silence.

The prince strode back from the wall where he had shut that ungodly portal to the outside world that forced him to  _hear people_ and _feel things_ and _think about that fucking hall below._

He was glad his father was dealing with this situation with more efficiency elsewhere.

 

A man stood, clearing his throat and looming over the table of men with an air of authority.

“David,” he said carefully, “as you – as _we –_ know, the Prince of Heart has been assassinated.”

That's what they called his brother. 'The Prince of Heart'. It was because he was caring, Dave thought. They didn't call Dave anything.

“I am aware,” the prince replied curtly.

The man who had spoken previously wrung his hands, professional and steady.

“Do you have an inkling as to whom the culprit of such an act of treason could be?”

Dave's lips curled. “I do not.”

The castle creaked.

“The neighbouring kingdom has-”

“This royal meeting is adjourned,” Dave said abruptly, positioning himself so he sat a little straighter.

“Prince David, Your Majesty,” the professional man said to the younger incredulously, “I don't understand.”

Dave waved his hand dismissively at the men crowded around the oak wood table.

“You heard me. I want everyone cleared from this room in a minute, I need time to think.”

They cleared.

What a short meeting.

 

Moments passed, and Dave re-seated himself, tired of his own laborious and frankly unnecessary pacing. His head rested carefully in his hands, he pushed his hair back with the tips of his fingers, running them up and down his pale forehead. He should get more sunshine... He hadn't the time though.

Even if he wasn't as busy as his father, or as highly sought after as his late brother, he was still royalty.

He had duties, though small. He had to uphold something resembling etiquette, so that meant lessons. Lots of them (some unneeded).He had to attend meetings and speak publicly on behalf of his father or brother when they weren't able. He kept a subtle social life, too. Being a seventeen year old, what else was to be expected of him? A lot, actually. It was a heavy burden for an adolescent to carry – being a member of the royal family. _A lot of things were expected of you._ He had never even dated a girl. It was odd, but true. He was too scared to commit. He should probably get a fiancée. For the sake of his kingdom.

Or rather, his father's.

 

 

 

 

 ~~_Jane_ ~~ _James Crocker's Log_

_21 st June._

_01:00 AM (approximately)_

_The Second Ballroom_

_Cause of death: A fatal blow to the head with the assumed weapon - a candlestick?_

_Victim: Dirk Strider ( ~~Prince of Heart)~~_

_Culprit: Currently unknown. Valet? Maid? Someone of closer relation?_

_Witnesses: 0_

_The body was found by the victim's brother, and young prince, David Strider, and right-hand-woman, Jade Harley_

_The exact time of Dirk's death is still undetermined_

 

Jane tapped her quill on the desk absently, messing with her hair in quiet discomfort. She'd found a grand total of zero clues while searching the crime scene, and the clock was ticking. Was it bandits? An enemy of the kingdom, perhaps?

She had always been relatively friendly with Dirk.

He would visit her now and again.

 

“ _Good morning, James. How is work?” Dirk would ask._

“ _Stressful, stressful. So very many things to do,” she would reply with a smile._

“ _That's a shame,” he'd say, strolling around her office, picking up knick-knacks and pieces of paper with a distant expression._

“ _It was kind of you to visit. I know you're horribly busy.”_

“ _No trouble. Have you heard from Jake recently?” he would stop, hesitant, knotting his hands in a loose basket._

_The conversations usually drifted to that subject._

“ _No. I regret saying so, but I'm only speaking in honesty. Jacob is still, for lack of a better phrase, off the radar.” She'd shrug and smile in apology._

_His shoulders would drop._

_They would both think about Jake English again that night._

 

She took a sip of water, thinking. Had she missed anything? Should she reinvestigate? Jane stood, putting her quill in its handy little ink pot and taking her cloak from its hook. She slipped her wad of paper, hardly filled, into the bag she slung over her shoulders. Then, she patted down her trousers, inspecting herself in the reflection her window gave her. She pulled her shirt down a little and nodded approvingly to herself. The lengths she went to to stay in a job she enjoyed, honestly. She tutted quietly, opening her door with a flourish, letting the light pour in to the room.

She left the office.

 

 

 

Winter was in full force, and the breeze was not a light one. Dave was wrapped up in layer upon layer of thick clothing as he paced back and forth between the desolate flower patches in the palace gardens. Each step was the same as the last – bold, experimental. He only needed to get past the guilt of having let Dirk die. He only needed to overlook the fact that he had murdered his brother.

Dirk had always been kind. A little distant? Certainly. Unnecessarily sarcastic? Perhaps. But he had always been laden with good intentions. He wanted the best for his kingdom, and would one day have been a great ruler in place of his father. The country fawned over him, and eligible bachelors would flock to him in every party, every ball, every gala or event. Dismissive as always, Dirk would simply brush them off. He had some petty infatuation with a peasant he had met out riding one day: Jacob English. (Quite a handsome young man, though Dave quite obviously couldn't see the attraction.)

Jake had flirted, Dirk had courted, and they had had a behind-the-curtains relationship for months. Dave didn't often see them together, as they kept it cleverly on the down-low, but every time he caught a glimpse of the way they looked at each other he couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness in his heart. Why did no-one look at him that way? And if they did, why did he never see it? He was attractive, John – his valet – told him so, whenever he asked. His cousin Rose had met a partner, Kanaya, and he assumed they were very happy together as well. God, he was unhappy. And god, had he screwed up.

 

“ _Are you unhappy, Dave?” Dirk had asked, resting his elbows on the railing running through the decorated walls and staring through the glass of the window in front of him._

“ _A little,” Dave had admitted in turn, running his fingers over his knuckles._

“ _Why?”_

_Dave had sighed, drumming his hands on his thighs. “I don't know. It's personal.”_

“ _We're brothers,” the older Strider had said. He had strolled around the room then – absent as always._

_Dave's face had screwed up in an indescribable display of emotion. He took a step forward, resting a hand on one of the compact chairs neatly arranged around tables in one half of the ballroom. “Do you care? Does it bother you?”_

_Dirk shrugged._

_For some reason, Dave had fumed. How dare he act so nonchalant? He had everything going for him! He had a partner, somewhere, almost assuredly safe and sound, he was popular in his kingdom, he had friends who respected him as an equal, and didn't just fear or ignore him, and goddammit he was going to rule the_ fucking _country! He would probably invade other countries! Conquer lands, lead armies into battle! He would become known as the greatest king Skaia had ever been graced with! History would commemorate his birth, and weep at the tragic loss that would be his death!_

_His...death._

_He wouldn't act so blatantly disinterested if his blood stopped running. He wouldn't be so meaninglessly disrespectful if his heart stopped beating. He wouldn't be so hard to live up to if Dave lived past his death. He would never be a ruler if he was buried ten feet in the ground._

_Dave could rule in place of him, after their father died. Dave could be respected, and cared for, and noticed, and loved, and complimented, and_ seen. _Dave could be better than Dirk ever was, or ever would be. He gripped the chair with both hands, and he looked at Dirk._

 

_His blond hair framed his face perfectly. He was tall, slender, and matured. Every little freckle that danced on his tanned skin was beautiful, like a splatter of paint from the finest artist. His posture was regal, and he stood as tall as we was. His body always moved in time with itself, and his voice always echoed in a powerful tone. He was inspiring, wonderful, handsome, brave: a fantastic brother. He hadn't smiled all year._

_Dave thought about drawing his sword, then and there, and slicing Dirk's head clean off. But he realised he'd be discovered._

_His footsteps were slow and steady, and he lifted a candlestick from one of the covered tables in the ballroom. It wasn't lightweight. Raising it into the air, he gritted his teeth. With as much force as he could muster, he swung it down on Dirk like a hammer. An almighty crack resonated in the air around his hovering hand, and his brother's face was one of shock and distraught horror as he slumped to the floor. The candlestick made a muffled clatter of a noise as it hit the floor beside the prince's body._

_Dave put his hands up to his mouth, gasping, and flew out of the room. He couldn't let anybody know what he had done. This was awful, he was awful, oh dear god._

“ _Harley!” he yelled frantically, “Egbert! A guard, ANYBODY! My brother has been murdered!”_

 

The bench felt cool under him, and he traced a hand over the wood. Snow still covered areas of the path, the hedges. Dave could see his breath in front of him as he exhaled. A silent wind chimed through the garden, blowing at the fabric of his clothes. The cobblestone clicked beneath his shoes as he tapped them, moving them up and down in a steady rhythm. The music of the air around him was, for once, eerily quiet.

Father wouldn't be proud.

Dave had killed a man. His brother, no less. He was a traitor, he was wrong, and he'd surely be hung. It was just a waiting game now. Maybe he could escape before they found out. Maybe he could get a chance at freedom, latch onto the opportunity of living a new life in a kingdom far away. He could stay with his cat-crazy cousin. He could leave this all behind. But then, what would be the point of killing Dirk if not to rule the kingdom? Maybe he was driving himself insane.

That Crocker detective had investigated the crime scene twice today, and Dave thought he might be putting the pieces together. He would ask questions, Dave thought. It would be too risky to stay here.

He sighed deeply, shoulders heaving, and stared at the ground beneath his feet. He would leave tomorrow, at noon.

He would only tell John.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“I'm a murderer, John,” Dave said quietly as John closed the door to the spacious room.

He smiled softly, shaking his head in a polite gesture.

“Of course you aren't, sire. You can't blame his death on yourself. Whatever scoundrel thought it appropriate to kill such a great man will surely be put to death.”

This was already going badly. How could Dave explain something like this to a servant? Did he really want to? Could he even trust John not to run off screaming and call the Royal Guards? He could practically picture it – gripped tightly by the noose's hand as the floor collapsed beneath him.

“John,” the prince said, voice commanding and stern.

The raven-haired young man straightened himself, resting his hands at his sides in a slowed motion and speaking, voice quivering slightly.

“Yes, sire?”

“I trust you not to speak a word of what I say to you outside of these walls,” Dave said.

The valet nodded quickly.

“Yesterday,” Dave went on, “I was worried that James Crocker, the detective, would find the real suspect. Do you know why?”

John wasn't sure if he was _supposed_ to know why, judging by how uncomfortable the prince looked. After a few moments of silence, he realised he should give an answer, and shook his head.

“James is a renowned detective, as well you know, and I doubt it will take him more than a matter of days to solve this case.” Dave's stomach churned. “I am still worried he will solve it all too quickly, before...before I have a chance to flee the kingdom. I killed my own brother in cold blood.”

Seconds later, the valet's chair crashed to the floor as he took a step back. John's master, David Strider, was a murderer. John didn't need confirmation, the look in Dave's eyes was enough. He had killed Dirk. There didn't need to be a reason, John didn't need to know. He was dangerous. John took another step towards the door, and as Dave stood to grab his wrist, he bolted. Running from corridor to corridor, it didn't matter where he ended up. He only had to get away, get to someone. He had to betray Dave's trust, for the sake of the kingdom. He wouldn't feel guilty for doing what was right.

Dave threw on a cloak, rushing past John's room and doubling back. He sifted through the valet's drawers and changed into some less formal clothes. John's clothes. He tucked his own clothes underneath the bed and looked down at himself. Surprisingly normal. Perfect. In a flash, he was out of the room again. He scanned the halls, sprinting round corners and startling maids. The door he approached was large and ornamented, with carvings exaggerating the border and gold lining the handle. Dave threw it open, a gush of cold air hitting his face. A booming noise echoed inside the building as he slammed it shut and ran through the courtyards.

The city was bustling. Dave passed bakers, workmen, tailors, confused children playing in the square around the fountain, blacksmiths, carpenters – you name it. He rarely left the castle walls, so the crowd was a little overwhelming. He bolted through streets and on pavements, all the while pondering how idiotic he had been to tell his servant he was a fucking murderer. He must be insane, that was it. The only rational explanation. If only he could find someone, anyone, willing to high-tail him out of this city, this kingdom.

The sun was showing its rear end, and the sky was greying. Each step Dave took grew slower, until he skidded to halt. Panting, he put his hands on his knees and coughed. He had been running for a long time. He couldn't let the guards catch him. _He couldn't._

Or could he?

In a moment of blindness and fear, he had murdered Dirk. What if it happened again? Perhaps everybody would be safer if Dave was executed. Dave started to think his servant was right to report him. Roles turned, Dave would have done the exact same thing. He couldn't relate to what John was feeling, but he could try to respect his decision. He couldn't hate the young man for it, he had done what he thought was right.

Rose would cry.

Dave took a shaky breath, contemplating what a shit person he was.

 

A woman approached the prince, face drawn and bored looking. Her features were sharp, and she was as skinny as a rake. Her hair was a light shade of brown, and stretched, unkempt, down and around her slim and shaped shoulders. Her elbows jutted out slightly, and her eyes were droopy and brown. She was wearing a lightly decorated white dress, tucked at the waist with a corset underneath, and a sandy orange jacket on top. She looked like the type of person to be out running races in the mud, not wearing such a fitting dress. It suited her, though.

“Are yooou interested in taking my carriage to Beforus because yooou sure do look like you are,” she mumbled, with very little enthusiasm or showmanship.

Holy shit. Dave was the luckiest man alive.

A pause lengthened as the woman put her hands on her hips, exhaling and preparing to move on.

“I am,” Dave said.

She lit up with glee, posture relaxing. “Hello,” she said with a grin, voice fluctuating and grainy. “ _I_ am Terezi Pyrope, _I_ own a humble little carriage belonging to _me_  and nobody elseI have _one_ carriage and _one_ carriage only, it is hard earned, and if you cannot pay for this carriage then you _cannot go to Beforus until Monday_ because _nobody else is stupid enough to work on a Sunday.”_

Dave breathed a sigh of guilty relief. “How much?” he asked.

“As much as you have,” Terezi replied.

In all honesty, that wasn't nearly as much as he could have brought. Should have thought ahead, Strider. He fished around his pockets, producing a small sack of gold coins. “Is this enough?”

Terezi's nose wrinkled, conflicting her wide toothy grin, and she snatched the bag, filing through its contents. “It's not sufficient,” she stated.

Bullshit.

“However,” she continued, “I am a kind woman! I will sacrifice three days of driving _and_ some edible provisions – as you seem to possess _none –_ for some entertainment. I have spent far too long without driving anyone.” She slipped the sack of coins into her satchel. “Follow me.”

 

Sliding round bends and twists in roads with perfectly awful driving, Terezi whooped from beside the young Strider.

“I love driving!” she shouted over the wind.

Dave nodded politely and slumped back against his seat. Deserted plains flew by as they raced down dirt tracks. His (far-less-perfect-than-Dirk's-fucking-locks-of-beauty) hair was already tangled, and his clothes were sandy at best. They had been driving for hours, and Dave was beginning to get unbearably bored. Perhaps he would take a nap, rest his eyes. That sounded like a good idea. He looked over at Terezi for approval. “Can I try to sleep?” he yelled.

“Sure!” she replied, “Do whatever the hell you want to! I'm not your mother!”

Dave smiled for the first time in an age, resting his head back against the bench and letting his breath out of him. He thinks he will miss John. Harley, too. Maybe even his father.

 

A good four hours pass before Dave is awakened. For a moment, he couldn't recall where he was. Where was he...? What was he doing there?

“HEY!” Terezi yelled next to Dave's ear. He startled, shooting up.

Terezi cackled, bending over behind the two of them and shifting the weight of her body as she rummaged around back for something. Producing a roll of bread, she shoved it in Dave's hands. “Food break. I'm exhausted.”

Dave accepted the bread graciously. He took a bite. Hard, but not stale. Better than it could have been. The world around him was more peaceful than it had ever been. It was far into the night, and stars lined the sky in clusters. The air was sandy and clear, and he felt freezing. Somehow, though, the cold felt refreshing.

“So, what's your name? Never got a chance to ask,” Terezi said.

“Dave. Dave...” Shit. “Dave English.”

“I won't question the pause. We've all got secrets, _cool kid._ As you know, I'm Terezi. I'm part of a long family line of Pyropes of all ages and professions. We're a predominantly middle-class family, and my mother even served the previous king once. Y'know, The Signless's friend. I forget his name. The Signless is this guy who rallied everybody against the queen in Alternia. He was a hero, but he was killed. He had two sons. One may or may not be dead, and the other one is still freaking out about that over in Beforus. That guy's called Karkat, and we've been good friends since he got here. Do you have anywhere to go?”

Dave shook his head. For once, he hadn't actually planned that far ahead.

Terezi made an acknowledging grunt. “Yeah, well, head over to him. He'll get you covered, maybe even direct you to an inn or something. I have to go look after my sister's fiancé for a while, so I'm glad I got to bring someone along for the ride. I was planning to leave Skaia today anyway. Karkat works at a tailor's. I'll take you there when we reach Beforus.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this entire chapter to Romance in the Air from Skyward Sword.


End file.
